


Walkin', Talkin' Miracle

by clgfanfic



Category: Lethal Weapon (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:09:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riggs gets hurt, again!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walkin', Talkin' Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Compadres #4 and later in Black Magic #3 under the pen name Lynn Gill.

          Roger gripped the back of the stiff vinyl couch in the hospital waiting-room, closing his eyes against the early morning glare filtering through the dust-layered window.  How could this be happening?  Just twelve hours ago Captain Murphy had handed him and Riggs the warrant to arrest Julio Torelli after three weeks of grueling stakeouts and investigation.  The first case they'd worked on together since Martin had been shot by Arjen Rudd.  It was supposed to have been a cakewalk.

          And they needed one.  Roger had worried constantly while the younger detective had struggled to readjust to a regular routine in Homicide.  Riggs had even dropped a few hints about asking for a transfer back to Narcotics, but Murtaugh fielded the comments with all the humor he could muster and waited for the real reasons behind his partner's discomfort to surface.  And the long nights they'd spent, staking-out Torelli's warehouses, had finally paid off.

          Murtaugh grinned thinly at the memory.  The problem?  The kid was afraid that Roger would end up dead if they stayed partners.  Considering Martin's track record over the past few years, his fear was understandable, even if it was completely irrational, and Roger told him as much.

          It had taken several nights, sitting in darkness, sipping stale coffee and talking, but the older detective finally convinced his partner that what he was feeling was a result of the shooting.  And by God they would stay partners until Roger let him know otherwise.  It took some doing, but Martin had finally agreed, with a relieved grin.

          Besides, Roger had added, he wasn't nearly as eager to retire as he let on at work.  In fact, he wasn't looking forward to retirement at all.  Boring!  Nothing to do but sleep late, go fishing, and find himself a hobby.  After twenty-five years on the force it sounded more like a life-sentence.

          Riggs had quickly suggested that the older officer take the lieutenant's exam so he could get a desk job where his experience could be put to good use.

Murtaugh admitted that the thought had crossed his mind a few times, but he wasn't ready to make a decision on it – yet.  He hadn't met many lieutenants, police or otherwise, that he cared for much.

          _Hell, the way it looks now, I'll be the one left alone_ , Murtaugh thought angrily.  _No, damn it.  I'm_ not _giving up on him that easily_.

He shook his head, forcing himself to watch the sun, a dirty orange ball, rise farther into the morning sky, turning the thick Los Angeles smog a dark, rusty brown.

          _How did this happen?_ the older man wondered.  Riggs had been in the best mood Roger had seen in months when they went to arrest Torelli.

The house was quiet.  _Too quiet_ , the detective thought.  _We should've known something was off.  It was like something out of a bad suspense movie.  It should've tipped us off_.

          They'd gone straight to the door – they had a warrant, after all.  And Torelli must have known that it was only a matter of time before they pulled together enough evidence to get one.

 _He probably wondered what the hell took us so long_ , Roger fumed.  _The man had no reason to run, not with the best attorneys in town on his payroll.  The chance that he'd spend a single day behind bars was minuscule.  He knew it, and we knew it…_

          _But, it sure as hell felt good to know that we were going to slap that warrant in ol' Julio's hand, cuff him, and haul his ass downtown…_

          Murtaugh sighed, wishing for the hundredth time it had gone off like they'd wanted.

          The front door stood open when they arrived.  Riggs slipped into the entryway first, crouching, his Beretta in his hand.  There was no sound, no movement, no nothing.

          They found Torelli dead, sprawled and gutted on his cream-white, crushed velvet couch.

          _And I didn't see a damned thing!_ the black man fumed silently.  _I should've seen something!_

          Riggs paused, looking down at the carnage.  A shot blasted through the house, the sound amplified by the high arched ceilings, and Murtaugh watched helplessly as his partner was spun around and slammed violently to the hardwood floor next to the couch.

          Murtaugh shook his head to chase away the images, then checked his watch. Riggs had been shot seven hours ago, then there'd been the ambulance, the ride to the hospital, talking to Captain Murphy, Trish picking him up…

          _Did I go home and sleep?_ he wondered absently.

          They took Martin into an ER treatment room.  Dr. Stanley Kaufman was there – Riggs' physician after the Rudd shooting.  He'd sent Roger off to wait…

He hated waiting!  Time, the images, everything was all confused.  Maybe he'd left, maybe not.  It didn't matter – he was still waiting.

          Roger sat down, resting his head in his hands.

          _What time is it?_ he wondered, checking his watch again.

_Five freakin' minutes later than the last time I looked.  Shit…_

          Kaufman had reappeared at some point and pronounced Riggs' survival nothing less than a modern day miracle, doing nothing for the helplessness and frustration the older detective was fighting.

Could he see his partner?

No, Kaufman had told him.  Not yet.  There were complications.

          _Complications…  Jesus.  And I'm still trapped in this damned waiting-room. When is someone going to tell me what's going on?_

          He could remember calling Trish, could remember her frightened voice, and Rianne in the background, asking what was wrong.

But Trish was here now, somewhere… here… CCU… Critical Care Unit… where they'd taken Marty, his head wrapped in bandages, machines attached to his body…

Roger shoved the vision away.  Why was he was still waiting?

 _God, I'm tired_ , he thought, rubbing his eyes.  Then he remembered.  Kaufman was in conference with a neurologist they'd called in.  They should be out soon to tell him what was happening to his partner…

 _What the hell am I going to do?_ the detective asked himself, gripping the cushion where he sat.

          He forced his fingers to relax and let go.  His palms, damp with sweat, trembled, and he rubbed them absently across his thighs.

_Christ.  I'm more scared now than I was down in the hold of that ship…  Why?_

          _Because if Marty'd died then it would've been for something important, but this…  This is shit!  No clues on the shooter.  No nothing.  It's a waste, a God damned waste.  No way in hell we're catchin' the guy.  Torelli was local shit and now my partner might die—_ Murtaugh cut the thought off abruptly.  _Marty is_ not _going to die._

          "Roger?"

          Murtaugh turned to find Dr. Kaufman watching him intently with concern-filled eyes.  "You hanging in there?"

          "Uh, yeah, guess so."

          "Good.  We need to talk.  Come down to my office.  It'll give you a minute to clear your head."

          "It's that bad?"

          "It's not good."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Roger watched the neurologist's eyes as she paced around the small office.  They told him she wasn't glossing the situation.  Marty was in trouble.  Real trouble.

          The technical terms slipped past him, but the gist was clear: the bullet had struck Martin's skull, fracturing the bone – serious, but not critical.  However, the force of the shot had thrown Riggs to the floor where the other side of his head impacted with the hardwood.  The combined blow was causing internal swelling, and if it continued it would kill him.

          For the moment they had stalled the swelling and were faced with two options.  They could wait for twenty-four hours and hope the pressure fell off on   its own.  Or, they could operate now, which would insure they went in before the problem reached a critical, life-threatening, level.

          The longer they allowed any pressure to press on the brain, the greater the chances there would be permanent damage.  But, if they operated, there was nothing to say that breaching the membrane around the brain wouldn't initiate a flash swelling that would kill Riggs on the table.

          _A rock and a hard place_ , Roger thought to himself as the woman carefully reviewed the two choices.  _And they want me to choose._

 _Well, there isn't anyone else_ , he told himself.  _Riggs is family.  But I_ don't _want to make the choice that kills him_.

          "What would you do, if it was your son?" he asked the two doctors.

          "Wait," Kaufman said.

          "Operate," the neurologist replied.

          "Thank you very much, doctors," Roger told them, running a hand across his forehead to remove the beads of sweat that had condensed there.  "Uh, can I have a minute to think about this?"

          The woman nodded and left.  Kaufman following her to the door, then paused, looking back at the detective.  "Roger, I don't want to make this any harder than it already is, but Marty's a fighter.  We saw that before.  If they go in and get into trouble, he won't have a chance to fight.  But Dr. Jamison is one of the best, so he'll be in good hands."

          "If I say wait, then what?"

          "We give him twelve hours to show some signs of improvement.  We go in and talk to him, bring in a witch doctor, pray, put crystals around his bed, any damn thing we can think of.  It's just a feeling, but I think he'll pull out of this on his own."

          Murtaugh fought back the panic and nodded.  "The kid is a fighter…  We'll wait."

          Kaufman nodded.  "I'll tell Elaine.  You get up to ICU and I'll meet you there."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Roger stepped out of the elevator, automatically glancing up and down the halls, his gaze roaming over the staff and visitors.  Trish was standing at the nurses' station, speaking with an older blond woman in blue scrubs the ICU staff wore.  He walked up to join her, comforted by the arm she slipped around his midsection.

          "He's still in a coma," she whispered.  "What're we going to do?"

          "We're gonna wait."

          The nurse smiled sympathetically at the pair.  "As soon as Dr. Kaufman notifies us, I can let you go in."

          "Thank you," Roger said.

          "Why don't you have a seat until then?" she suggested, pointing down the hall.

          Roger frowned at the thought of spending another minute in a waiting room, but Trish squeezed tighter and led him away from the counter.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Roger?"

          He shivered at the sound of her voice, looking up from where he'd been staring blankly at the angular southwestern pattern on the carpet.

          Four years.  Had it really been that long?

          Blinking and shaking his head to clear it, he smiled up thinly at Dom.  She hadn't changed – still the exotic beauty he remembered.

          "How'd you hear?" he asked.

Trish stirred from where she had dozed off next to him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "McCasky.  I just got back in-country.  I was going to stop by and see how Marty was doing after the run-in with Rudd.  Seems our paths were crossing again on that one.  I called your office, and here I am."

          "Rog?" Trish said softly.

          "Huh?  Oh, Trish, this is Dominique.  She—"

          "That's what I thought," the black woman said, sitting up and extending her hand.  Dom took it and squeezed.  "I always wanted a chance to say thank you for all your help."[1]

          "You're very welcome," Dom said.  "And thank you both for taking care of Marty."

          "I haven't done a real good job of that lately," Roger said softly.  "Maybe the kid was right; I should retire.  Anyway, I'm glad you're here."

          Dom frowned slightly at the comment, but listened silently as Roger explained Riggs' condition as best he could, then gave her the highlights of the younger detective's life after he was shot by the South African:  in the hospital until Christmas, then at Roger's until he recuperated and located another trailer for sale down on the beach.  He moved into the new accommodations the same day he went back to work.

          The captain had assigned him to a desk for a month, but after two weeks of Riggs driving everyone in the office crazy, Murphy cut him loose, giving the partners the Torelli case.  It was supposed to be a simple, straightforward assignment.

          Her brow furrowed as Roger described the two weeks of investigation that led to the warrant.  Julio Torelli was a powerful, if local, crime figure.  Lately he'd become involved with a small syndicate, moving drugs up from Mexico through Arizona and into Los Angeles.  In order to make a space for himself in the group he ordered a hit on the LA/Tucson connection, Emmanuel Gonzalez.  The hitman was sloppy and Riggs and Murtaugh were able to pull together enough evidence to have Torelli arraigned before a Grand Jury.

          Going into as much detail as he could about finding Torelli's body and the shooting, Roger watched her frown.

          "Something?" he asked her.

          "The M.O. sounds familiar; an East German I've crossed paths with a couple of times.  I'll have a local contact run him, see if he's in the States."

          Murtaugh was ready to interrogate her further about the hitman when Kaufman exited from the elevator.  The threesome stood.

          "More family?" he asked Roger, noting Dom's worried expression.

          Murtaugh nodded.  "Yeah."

          "Good.  Now, please remember he isn't going to look good," Kaufman said as he headed for Riggs' room, the three following behind.  "Dr. Jamison is on standby if the swelling increases, and you're cleared to stay with Martin until I throw you out.  I'd suggest shifts.  I don't want to be treating any of _you_ this time tomorrow."

          "What do we do?" Trish asked when they stopped outside the door.

          "Talk to him, read, sing, anything at all.  Oh, is he religious?"

          "Huh, no, I don't think so," Roger answered, realizing that he had no idea whether Riggs was or not.

 _This is a hell of a way to find out what you don't know about someone_ , he thought.

          "We have a chaplain on call.  You might want him to stop by.  The most important thing is for Marty to know you're here.  We can't know if he'll actually hear what you're saying, but studies have proven that patients in comas have higher recovery rates when they receive a lot of contact, verbal and physical, even if they don't remember it when they wake up.  So, touch him, hold his hand, and keep your voices going."  He pushed the door to the injured man's room open.  "Staff will be checking in every fifteen minutes, and if the pressure should shift the nurses' station will light up like Christmas, so just get out of the way and let them do their jobs."

          The three moved slowly into the room, side-stepping around the various pieces of monitoring equipment.  Kaufman waited until the initial paleness of shock left their faces before he smiled encouragingly and left them alone.

          "Oh, Rog," Trish whispered, staring at Riggs' chalk white face, made worse by the bandages wrapping his head and the spreading purple bruises that seeped down from his temples and across his cheeks.

Murtaugh wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him.

"It could've been you," she whispered.

          "I know, baby.  But it wasn't."

          Dom watched Riggs grimace slightly, one of the machines bleating softly in reply.  "He'll make it," she said, a slight quiver still evident in her voice.

          "That's right," Roger said, clearing his throat.  He kissed Trish.  "Look, why don't you go home for a while and rest.  Tell the kids what's going on.  Rianne'll want to come."

          Trish nodded.  "I'll come back in a few hours and sit with him while you get something to eat."  She gave Dom a smile.  "I know they won't get either of you out of here to rest, but you'll need to eat.  Rianne and I can take over while you do."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Roger sat next to the bed, his hand resting on Riggs' arm.  Dom sat on the other side, her fingers laced through the injured detective's.  To pass the time she told Roger a little about her last assignment: the two Houston cops she had met, Walter Simenson, his connections to Rudd and the problems she'd had in Syria, trying to track down Akmed, Rudd's Middle-Eastern counter-part.[2]

          "Sounds like a helluva organization."

          "Not any more; just one more to go.  Hernandez, the South American connection."

          "And Marty gets popped working on a nothing like Torelli.  It just ain't right." He looked away, guilt wrapping his face in a tight mask.  "You think he can hear us? That we're getting through?"

          "I hope so.  I wish Victoria Lynn were here.  If anyone could reach him, she could."

          "You knew her?" Roger asked, his eyes widening.

          Dom smiled briefly.  "Yeah."  She watched the conflicting emotions play across the older man's face.  "That really surprises you, doesn't it?"

          Roger nodded.  "Don't know why.  He doesn't talk that much about her so I don't know much.  It still hurts him.  Not like before, of course, but… you know.  It's been better since this Christmas.  I don't know why or how exactly – maybe almost dying did it – but he seemed to make some sort of peace with himself then."[3]

          "I'm glad.  Marty's a special person.  Special to me.  I'd really like to hear that he's happy again."

          They sat in silence for a moment before Roger whispered, "What was she like?"

          Dom brushed a strand of long black hair off her forehead and chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully.  "Beautiful… full of life… funny… calm."

          Roger chuckled.  "Sounds like just the thing for Marty."

          A smile erupted on her face and she shook her head.  "It was love at first sight, too.  You should have seen him fall, it was classic," Dom said, rubbing Riggs' shoulder with her free hand and adding when she saw Murtaugh's skeptical raised eyebrow.  "Really, he was so romantic it was disgusting.  But there were times I wondered if he'd _ever_ get the nerve up to ask her out, let alone ask her to marry him."

          "Where'd they meet?"

          "Saigon."

          The black eyes widened.  "Saigon?"

          Dom nodded, knowing she'd found a topic that would keep them going for several hours.  "Victoria Lynn Foster was a civilian secretary for one of the guys who organized the USO tours in Vietnam.  She traveled some in-country with him, getting tours in and out of Saigon and DaNang."

          "I never would've guessed," Murtaugh said, his hand rubbing absently along his partner's arm.  "I guess I figured they met here."

          "God, those were crazy times.  Vicky did it to prove a point.  Her father was a very rich man, and his daughter was his pride and joy, but she had a mind, and a will, of her own.  When the war broke out she got involved – because her older sister was.  At first it was going to protests with her sister, carrying signs, distributing flyers.  But Vicky realized that she didn't really know what it was that she was protesting, so she volunteered for the job with the USO.  Her father damned near disowned her.  I thought he would when she married Marty…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Riggs stood in the middle of a swirling fog and slowly looked around.  It reminded him of the night on the beach… the night when Vickie had come to him, and—

          _No.  I won't do that to myself.  She said her good-byes then.  She won't—_

          "Marty?"

          He spun, his hand reaching instinctively for his absent gun, but he knew the voice.  It was just like before…

          "Not quite, Marty."

          "What do you mean?"  He studied her worried face.  Something was wrong.  He frowned and thought.

          _What?  What was I doing?_

_Torelli.  The warrant.  The door was open.  Rog and I went in, found the body…_

_The gunshot!_

          "I was shot," he said.

          "Yes."  She moved closer, her fingers gently caressing his forehead and cheek.

          "Am I dead?" he asked, a hand coming up to rub along her arm.  Her skin was soft and warm.

          "No."

          There were tears standing in her bright blue eyes, and he reached up, catching her hand and kissing her palm.  "What, Vicky?  What is it?"

          Her hand moved away and she reached up, pushing a strand of golden blonde hair behind her ear.  It stayed long enough for her hand to move away and then popped out again – a perpetual problem.  He smiled.  They had been married eleven years, but she looked the same as the day he'd first seen her.

          His eyes narrowed and he studied her carefully.  She _did_ look like the nineteen-year-old girl he'd met in Saigon, 1971.

          "You're beautiful," he whispered.

          "Marty," she paused, glancing around, unsure what she should do or say.

          "I am dead, aren't I."

          "No, you're in a place of… decision."

          "You mean I have to decide to live or die here?"

          "Yes."

          "Seems like I find a lot of those places, doesn't it?"

She smiled sadly.  "You remember Saigon in '71?"

Another nod.

"That was one of those places, too."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Come on, Marty!" Dom cajoled for the third time, finally reaching out to grab a fistful of the young man's fatigue shirt.

          "Stop, stop, stop!" Riggs said, waving her off.  For a mission buddy, Dom could be a real pain in the ass when they got time off.  She simply didn't understand a man's needs.  " _Look_ at that, would you?"

          The girl sighed heavily, her gaze following his stare and pointing finger to a flyer tacked to a post announcing a USO show appearing in two days.

"So?" she asked.

          " _So?_   We'll still be here, that's so.  So, let's go!"

          "Fine," Dom said, grabbing his shirt again and trying to haul him off in the direction of the restaurants just off the base.  "Now, come on, I'm starving."

          Riggs trotted along beside his teammate, his hands gesticulating wildly as he talked.  "Dom, they'll have go-go dancers, and maybe someone like Marilyn Monroe!"  His hands scooped out an hourglass shape.  "She used to entertain the troops, you know."

          "So I've heard.  Jesus, Marty, you flippin' out on me here, or you just horny? Go-go girls?  You must need a good fuck," she muttered, moving off through the scattered Vietnamese pedestrians moving along the sidewalk without him.

          Corporal Riggs blushed, then bolted to catch up with her.  He and Dom were occasional lovers, but there was a perpetual innocence to the girl and it threw him off guard when she talked like one of the guys in their unit.

"You shouldn't talk like that," he told her when he caught up.  "It isn't ladylike, you know."  He slapped her lightly on the top of the head.  "Let's go eat."

          Dom snorted, allowing him to take her by the arm and pull her off to a favorite hangout for Phoenix Force members in town for some R&R.

"Riggs, you're a freakin' prude."

          The restaurant-bar was crowded and Martin ignored the comment as they worked their way back to an empty table.  Riggs ordered them two beers and _nuoc mam_ covered fish and rice.  Music blared from an old jukebox that had somehow found a home in the small, dimly lit establishment.  The songs were an odd assortment of English and Vietnamese and Dom hummed along to all of them.

          Marty smiled.  The girl had a helluva voice.  Good enough that he'd made a nice piece of change off the small impromptu concerts he'd talked her into putting on at the base camps they passed through on their missions.  Of course, she didn't know that!

          A waitress arrived with their food, she and Dom exchanging several comments in Vietnamese before the young woman left.  Casting a last look over her shoulder, the waitress smiled and wiggled her fingers at Riggs.

          "What was that all about?  I couldn't keep up," he asked.

          "You weren't trying," Dom admonished.  "She asked me if I was your mama-san.  She thought maybe you two could get together later, when she finishes work."

          Riggs grinned around a mouthful of the meal.  "What'd ya tell her?"

          "That you liked papa-sans better."

          "What!" he yelled, choking.

          "Just kidding," Dom teased.  "I told her maybe, but you're expensive."

          Riggs choked a second time, grabbed his beer and downed a long swallow before he turned on the black-haired she-tiger he was partnered with, ready to bawl her out.

"You know, you're…"  The highly trained killer trailed off, his mouth gaping open.

Dom turned in her seat to see what had affected the man so drastically.

          Victoria Lynn stood just inside the door to the bar.  Two men, one an older civilian, the other an Army captain, standing on either side of her looked more nervous than she did as they searched the restaurant for an empty table.  The civilian pointed to a small, unoccupied table not far away from Riggs and Dom.

          Marty's stare never left the girl's face as they crossed the floor to take the seats.  The food was forgotten, Dom was forgotten, everything was forgotten in the blue of her large eyes and the sun-gold of her long hair.

          "You're staring," Dom whispered.  "And you're gonna drool if you don't lift that jaw, Corporal."

          Riggs managed to close his mouth, but he continued to watch.  The threesome ordered their food and fell into discussion.  The girl seemed to hold her own, although it was clear that she worked for the older civilian.  The captain argued half-heartedly against them, but it wasn't long before the two men shook hands.

          Dom was sure she had heard "USO" and "canceled" in the conversation, but decided mentioning it to Marty at the moment would be a wasted effort.  She shook her head and finished her meal, then her partner's.  It was obvious that Riggs was too distracted to appreciate it.  If there was anything called love-at-first-sight, Dom knew she had just seen it in operation.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Victoria Lynn smiled.  "I remember you watching me.  I was too embarrassed to look back at you, but I was watching back out of the corner of my eye."

          Riggs chuckled.  "Good thing Dom could sing or I wouldn't've had a good excuse to talk to you."

          "I'm sure you would've made something up."

          He smiled and reached out to hold her hand.  "Probably."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Did you do it?" Roger asked.

          "I didn't have a choice," Dom explained.  "Marty promised Vicky that I had a great voice and that I'd be more than happy to sing for 500 grunts who hadn't seen an American woman in four months."  She grinned and shook her head.  "Damn good thing I was well trained."

          "Sounds like Riggs."

          Dom reached out and ran the back of her hand along the injured man's jaw.  "They were so much in love…  It was like something written by Walt Disney, and I just couldn't play the wicked Queen.  I think I surprised Marty with what I could do. I know I sure as hell surprised myself.  They started dating hot and heavy after that, then we went back to active status.  Marty and I went back to Saigon every chance we got, until they pulled the USO headquarters out and put them in Japan."

          "I'll bet that just thrilled Riggs."

          Dom chuckled and shook her head.  "Thrilled doesn't even begin to describe it."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Vicky's blue eyes widened.  "What did you do?"

          Riggs smiled sheepishly, squeezing her hand tighter.  "I never told you, did I?"

          "No, you didn't, and I think I'm glad you did, given that look in your eye, Martin Riggs."

          Riggs grinned, taking her head and starting down the beach.  "Dom and I got back to Saigon in late November.  We were coming off a bad mission.  We'd lost a member of the team, Tom Cordon was M.I.A. in Laos…  I needed to see you, be with you.  When I found out you were gone…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Marty, are you crazy?" Dom asked in a harsh whisper as she crouched next to the man she daily risked her life with and for.

          "How could they do this?"

          "They packed them up, put them on a plane, and flew them the hell out of here.  In case you hadn't noticed, there's a _war_ going on.  But I'm sure they might've reconsidered if they knew how mad you'd get about it!"

          Riggs glared at the half-Eurasian, half-American girl.  "I _know_ there's a war going on."

          "Civilians are in danger in a war, too, y'know.  We're losing this thing, Marty, we know it, and they know it.  I think it's a damned smart move to pull unessential people out of here.  I wouldn't want her to get killed."

          Riggs shot Dom a nasty glare.  "And you think I do?"

          "The way you're acting, I don't know."

          Sgt. Martin Riggs looked down at the explosives he'd planted against the wall of the deserted USO building on the outskirts of downtown Saigon.  He sighed.  "Okay, so I maybe I'm over-reacting… a little."

          "I guess they could've called us up in the middle of Laos and said, 'hey, Marty, we're sorry, but the USO people are being moved out of the country for their own protection.  Hope that's okay with you.'"

          "Okay, okay.  So I'm acting like an—"

          "And how was Vicky supposed to leave a message for you?  We don't even officially exist half the time!"

          "Okay, I—"

          "And you didn't even check any of our hang-outs to see if she left something there for you, so—"

          " _Okay!_   I'm an asshole!   Happy?"

          Dom grinned.  "Why are we here?"

          "Because I want to blow something the fuck up!"

          "Oh.  Okay."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "You blew it up?"

          Riggs laughed, looking up at what he thought might be stars.  Hell, why not? It looked like they were sitting on an empty beach, the tide lapping quietly nearby, so why not stars shining overhead?

"Well, _I_ was ready to pack it up and call it a night, but when Dom agreed…"

          "You blew it up."  She tried to look stern.  "Marty!"

          He grinned.  "It made a hell of a nice show."

          Victoria Lynn shook her head, then gave the detective a hug.  "You crazy oaf. I do love you."

          He pulled her down on top of him.  "I love you, too, Victoria Lynn."

          The blonde woman pushed back, searching his blue eyes for the decision that hadn't been made.

          "What's wrong with me?" he asked her.

          "I'll try to explain…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Roger chuckled.  A soft knock on the door stilled his next question.  Trish and Rianne entered.

          "Time for a shift change," Trish told them.

          "Coffee?" Dom asked, standing and stretching.

          "Sounds good," Roger agreed.  He gave his wife and daughter a hug.

          "We'll take good care of him, Daddy," the young woman promised.

          He kissed Rianne's forehead.  "I know, sweetheart.  We'll be in the cafeteria. If anything happens—"

          "We'll come get you," Trish finished, taking Dom's vacated seat.  "Now get, both of you."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "How'd you end up in 'Nam?" Roger asked, sipping the tasteless brew and hoping the caffeine would kick in.

          "My father was a businessman," Dom explained.  "He had several companies there.  My mother was French and Vietnamese.  We were living there at the time.  My father made arrangements to get us out of the country, but then Tet happened. He and my mother were killed.  My sister and I were on our own.  We met this guy, a CIA agent, and he recruited us.  I ended up leading teams into the countryside, Gabrielle kept an eye on some of the southern generals."

          Murtaugh shook his head.  "Can't have been easy.  You were just a kid."

          Dom shrugged.  "You do what you have to in order to survive.  Meeting Marty was a godsend.  I don't know what would've happened to me without him being there.  I needed a friend, real bad."

          "You weren't jealous?  About Victoria Lynn, I mean."

          Dom grinned.  "No.  I loved Marty, still do, but not like that."  She glanced down at her watch.  "Eight hours… four more to go."

          "Ready to head back?"

          She nodded, pushing the nearly full cup aside.  "Yep."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          After a conversation about Rianne, her crush on Riggs, and what he planned to do if Martin ever acted on it, Roger directed the conversation back to their original topic.

"When did he finally get up the nerve to ask her?"  Reaching out, Roger took his partner's hand in his own, and squeezed the limp fingers.

          Dom continued to stroke the wild tumble of hair pushed back by the bandages as she replied.  "Let's see, it was about six months after we got back in-country.  Marty headed straight for LA and signed up at the academy.  Vicky lived in Brentwood.  We drove past that place I don't know how many times…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "I wasn't surprised when I found Dom on the doorstep that day," Vicky said, her fingers intertwining with Martin's as they walked along the shore.  "She told me you were enrolled at the academy… that you'd tried to call me, but Daddy told you to stay away from me."

          "Your old man was one nasty son of a bitch."

          She stopped, and planted a quick kiss on Rigg's cheek.  "No, he was just a little too protective.  And he was getting sick of hearing about Martin Riggs.  I think he thought you were going to show up in the front yard one day in jungle fatigues and an M-16; it might scare the neighbors."

          Riggs laughed.  "Guess it was bad enough when I finally did show wearing my blues."

          "I was so proud of you."

          "Yeah, well, it didn't help when your dad threatened to call the cops.  I _was_ a cop."

          Vicky took his hand and led him back down the beach.  "He came around.  And you _did_ show up in jungle fatigues, if you recall."

          "I didn't have an option!  He only accepted me _after_ we eloped.  I figured I'd have to storm the place to get you out."

          "Some men are just hard-headed.  A trait I'm sure you can understand, Officer Riggs."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "They eloped?"

          Dom smiled.  "Oh, yeah.  Mr. Foster told Vicky he'd disinherit her if she went through with it, but that didn't mean anything to her.  Marty showed up one night, decked out in cammo and black shoe polish, ready to scale the walls to her second floor bedroom and carry her off."

          Murtaugh chuckled and grinned.  "I'll just bet."

          "The only thing was, Mr. Foster was out of town for a business meeting, so Vicky just used the front door.  I think Marty was kind of disappointed."

          The pair laughed.  "I drove all the way to Las Vegas," Dom explained, "the two of them cooing in the back seat."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Riggs paused, bending down to pick up a piece of driftwood, then tossed it out into the quiet surf, watching as it was deposited back on the sand.

"I always felt bad that you didn't get a storybook wedding, the kind you deserved."

          Vicky reached up, ruffling Rigg's already wind-tousled hair.  "You are a romantic…  Our wedding was fine.  I had everything I needed – you."

          Martin turned and gathered the young woman into his arms.  "God, I love you," he choked out.  "I miss you so much."

          "I know, Marty, I know.  But we have an eternity waiting for us.  And you have a lot of people who need you right where you are."

          He nodded against her neck.  "I know," he whispered, "but sometimes it's hard."

          She rubbed her hands along his back.  "I'm always with you.  Always."

          He raised his head and kissed her, her lips warming and inviting.  When they parted, she reached up, holding her face in her hands.  "It's time, Marty."

          His eyes widened.  "No, not yet, Vicky—"

          "An eternity," she said softly.  "I can wait a little longer."

          His eyes dropped closed for a moment and he nodded, feeling her fingers gently stroking his temples.  "I— I have to go back."  He felt the kiss on his forehead.  "I love you, Victoria Lynn."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The soft rhythmic beep of the monitor changed pitch, and a soft but insistent alarm sounded.

          Roger and Dom scrambled back as the door to the room burst open and a flurry of activity descended on the injured officer.

          Standing near the corner the pair watched as Kaufman and Jamison charged in, making their way to the bedside.

          "You'd better be waking up, Riggs," Stanley growled, his gaze sweeping over the equipment.

          "Vitals are stable, Doctors," one of the nurses said.

          "We're getting some REM activity," Jamison added.

          Kaufman reached out, grabbing Martin's shoulders.  "Come on, Riggs, time to wake up.  You're cluttering up my hospital, Detective."

          A soft moan escaped Riggs' throat, and Dom reached out, grabbing Murtaugh's arm and giving it a squeeze.

          "Kid?" Roger called involuntarily.

          A second moan echoed in his chest.

          Kaufman grinned.  "Riggs, you lucky bastard, open your eyes.  Come on, son…"  He glanced over his shoulder, nodding at Roger.  "Come talk to him."

          Murtaugh took one halting step toward his injured partner, then crossed the room in two long strides.  He took Riggs' hand in his own.

"Hey, Riggs, whatcha doing?  Wake up, man, you got company."

Martin's head rolled sluggishly once from side to side.

"Come on, partner, who's gonna keep me from retiring, Kid?"

          The blue eyes cracked open, followed by a loud groan.  "Can't retire, Rog," he rasped out.  "The bad guys are still out there."

          The older black man grinned and felt the warm tears fall over his cheeks.  "Yeah, kid, I know."

          "Marty," Kaufman directed, "look at me."

          Riggs' head lolled to one side and he forced his eyes open further.  "Stan?"

          "Very good," the doctor said, then scowled at the detective.  "What the hell did you do this time?  You plannin' on financing my retirement all by yourself?"

          A lopsided smile lit up Riggs' face.  "Hey, anything for a friend, Doc.  But you think you can get those damn jack-hammers outta my head?"

          Stanley smiled and shook his head.  "Hate to tell you this, Marty, but they might be there for a while."

          "Great," he mumbled.  "It's worse 'n a hangover."

          "I've got an old family remedy for hangovers, Riggs," Dom said, joining Roger as the nurses and Dr. Jamison finished and left.

          "Dom?"

          She leaned over and kissed his forehead where Vicky had, causing Riggs to shiver.  "You okay?"

          He met her eyes, momentarily startled by the pale silver-gray that stared back, worried.  He'd never get used to those eyes.  "Yeah, fine… right, Doc?"

          "We're certainly going to find out," Kaufman assured him.  He looked up at the two anxious faces.  "Five minutes, then you two get some rest and we'll take over."  They nodded.  "You have a five minute reprieve, Riggs, then we start poking and prodding.  Enjoy it."  He patted Martin on the arm and left the threesome alone.

          "When you'd get back?" Riggs asked, reaching out to capture one of the Dom's hands.  He squeezed the one Roger was still holding.

          "Yesterday."

          "Staying long?"

          "Long enough to see if I can find the guy who did this, make sure you're okay, and check out your latest beach house," she told him.  "Good thing you're so hard-headed," she added, leaning over to kiss his forehead again.  "I don't have enough friends to lose another one."

          Riggs nodded slightly.

          "But right now I've got a date with a hot shower and a soft bed," she said.  "I'll see you tomorrow."  With a smile and a quick hug for Roger she left the two partners alone.

          "'Kay," he said, watching her go, then looked back to Murtaugh.  "Christ, Roger, I fucked up."

          "You?" the older detective questioned.  "What about me?  I was the senior officer."

          "Not your fault.  I shouldn't've froze like that, when I saw the body."

          "Don't worry about it," Murtaugh told him.  "We'll get the shooter.  At least ol' Joey's off the streets.  Probably somebody settling the score for the hit he ordered."

          "That's something…" Riggs trailed off.

          "Hey, kid, you okay?"

          "Huh?" he replied, then blinked.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I'm fine," he said, then grinned sheepishly.  "It was the damnest thing, Rog, she was so real…"

          Murtaugh's forehead wrinkled.  "She?  Who?" he asked.  "Dom?  She was—"

          "No, not Dom," Riggs interrupted.  "Victoria Lynn.  She was with me… wherever I was."  He smiled.  "We were talking about when we met…"

          A soft chuckle rumbled out of Roger.  "You did hear us."

          "Huh?"

          "That was Dom," Roger explained.  "She was telling me about when you and Victoria Lynn met in Siagon."

          "She did?"

          Murtaugh frowned.  "I know it really wasn't any of my business—"

          "No, no, it's not that, Roger," he broke in.  "I don't care.  I'm glad she did.  I would've told you myself, but…"

          "I know… I know."

          "But it was so real."

          "She's a good storyteller."

          Riggs nodded thoughtfully.  "I guess so."

          Glancing down at his watch, Murtaugh gave his partner a light clap on the shoulder.  "I better get outta here before Kaufman gets back.  You take care, you hear?"

          "Sure," Riggs said.  "Can't leave you alone on the streets… not at your age."

          "Not at my age, yeah, right," Roger said, heading for the door.  "I'll see you, partner, first thing in the morning.  And you'd better be fine.  I _am_ getting too old for this shit."

          "Get some sleep, Cochise.  You look like you need it."  Riggs watched the door close behind his partner, the last concerned but affectionate glance lingering in his memory.  It was good to have family.

_"An eternity, Marty…  Remember?  I'll be waiting…  I love you."_

          "Vicky?" he whispered, looking around the empty room.

_"I love you…"_

          The door swung open.  "So, ready to donate your body to science?" Kaufman asked.  "You're a regular walkin', talkin' miracle around here, Riggs."

          "Sure," Marty replied jovially.  "What've I got to lose?" 

 

* * *

[1]  "That Old Black Magic" by Lynn Gill.

[2]  "A Match Made in Heaven," by Lynn Gill

[3]  "Home Again for Christmas," by Lynn Gill

 


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